


Oh They Sing All Day and They Haunt Me in the Night

by JackEPeace



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AU, F/F, Sabrina AU, witches and also supernatural abilities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-05 21:36:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17332802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackEPeace/pseuds/JackEPeace
Summary: The past few weeks have been traitorous, full of superstitions and not science.Full of words like prophecy. Second-sight. Affinity.Words like witches.All used in a disappointingly unironic way.(A Chilling Adventures of Sabrina AU)





	Oh They Sing All Day and They Haunt Me in the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the person who left this prompt in my inbox. (Come visit me on Tumblr to talk about Sabrina thanks) 
> 
> Title from "Love Like Ghosts" by Lord Huron.

There’s absolutely nothing scientific or logical about what’s happening here and that, more than anything, sends shivers up Jemma’s spine.

She figures that prickling on the back of your neck feeling is par for the course in a place that makes it feel like Halloween is every day of the week and often makes a name for itself because of its bloody and honestly ridiculous history and Jemma has made it through the first sixteen years of her life by sticking to logic and science. So, when she was young and all her friends cried about monsters in the closet or ghosts on the side of the road, Jemma was always there with an eyeroll and a quick, _logical_ explanation for things in the shadows.

Jemma isn’t really sure what to do now, when logic is slipping away, and science hasn’t really helped her out all that much.

The past few weeks have been traitorous, full of superstitions and not science.  

Full of words like prophecy. Second-sight. Affinity.

Words like witches.

All used in a disappointingly unironic way.

But Jemma figures that sometimes when something is looking you in the face, you can’t really ignore it. And it seems like, science or logic or not, she can’t exactly ignore what’s been happening to her recently. The fact that she seems to be…seeing things now. Dreaming them while awake and having them come true.

And that’s why…

That’s why she’s taken to avoiding her best friend in the entire world and hiding out in school bathrooms, studying her reflection and trying to give herself the world’s worst pep talk.

Jemma has tried her best to ignore the changes, to push the visions and dreams from her mind. But they keep coming true and how is she supposed to ignore that? The best scientists in the world know that you can’t ignore data just because it doesn’t support your hypothesis.

Her dreams have shown her ghosts in graveyards, swirling in the mist, proof that the town’s history is all true.

Her mind has shown her a disaster that weighs heavy on Jemma’s shoulders because she can’t help but wonder if maybe she could have stopped it from happening, if she had been willing to accept that superstition a little earlier.

And now, Jemma thinks that her second-sight is showing her the truth that she doesn’t want to see.

When Jemma looks at her reflection, she sees a normal sixteen-year-old girl. Not the type of person who has visions and sees the dead. Not the sort of person who…

Jemma swallows, exhaling between her teeth. “Daisy,” she says, practicing the words that she’s known that she’s needed to say for the past few days. “We need to talk.”

Hiding in the bathroom in between classes is definitely easier than talking, however.

“We _really_ need to talk.” Jemma’s reflection looks disappointed, because she’s thought of saying those words before in a much different context. “I think…I mean I’ve been having these…no, that’s not right.”

Jemma shakes her head, biting the inside of her cheek. “That’s not going to work.” She looks at herself, squaring her shoulders. “Daisy…are you a witch?”

Behind her, something drops to the ground with a thud that makes Jemma nearly jump out of her skin. She whirls around, her hip slamming into the bathroom sink, and there’s Daisy standing there behind her, binders and books on the floor.

Daisy. The witch.

If her dreams can be believed.

Which, Jemma is starting to think…they can.

“Jesus,” Jemma breathes, pressing her hand to her throat. “Daisy. How were you…how long…I didn’t hear you…”

Daisy manages to look apologetic despite the fear blooming across her face, eyes wide. “I…I wanted to make sure you were okay. Since you’ve been…avoiding me.”

Jemma immediately opens her mouth to argue, to deny that that’s _exactly_ what she’s been doing. But what good is that? Especially because Jemma figures that’s really no longer the issue, anyway. “How much did you-”

“A witch,” Daisy repeats, the word falling like a stone between them. “You think I’m a witch.”

It’s not really a question, so Jemma swallows rather than answering.

Daisy’s body seems to deflate all the sudden and when she looks at Jemma, her eyes are wet and shimmering with unshed tears. Jemma immediately feels her heart plummet down to her feet, the way it always seems to do when she finds Daisy upset. It’s always been easy before, to go to Daisy, to hold her close and soothe her while she cries.

Jemma hates the way that she feels rooted in place now.

“How did you know?” Daisy whispers, her fingers opening and closing into useless fists.

Jemma exhales, putting her hand on the sink behind her to hold herself up. “I didn’t…for sure…” Even though Jemma knows that’s not entirely true. That she did know, when the visions in her mind started to show that truth to her. “I…you really are?”

Daisy looks at her, her expression pleading. “I’m not…I wanted to tell you…I’m not dangerous, or…”

“Daisy-”

“I should go. I need to…” Daisy turns, stumbling toward the bathroom door. “I’m sorry.”

“Wait! Daisy!” But the door is already whispering closed behind her.

The bathroom sounds impossibly quiet without Daisy, now that Jemma is alone. She turns back to look at her reflection, gritting her teeth against the image that she sees there. “Why couldn’t you have been wrong,” she whispers. “Or kept this to yourself?”

There’s no answer, of course.

Just like there hasn’t been any sort of answer yet as to _why_ Jemma is seeing these things. Why _she_ has to be the one to have these images, to see the spirits that haunt the town. Why, now, she’s being abandoned by logic and reason.

Jemma turns away, kneeling to gather the books that Daisy has left behind. She hurries to first period, but there’s no Daisy. Jemma can’t help but tap her fingers impatiently on the surface of her desk, waiting for Daisy to show up. But she never does, just like she doesn’t show up for second or third period.

By the time lunch rolls around, Jemma has made up her mind. She gathers her things and Daisy’s, which she’s been carrying around dutifully since their encounter in the bathroom and slips out the back door of the cafeteria. Her heart is pounding in her chest, her tongue dry and stuck to the roof of her mouth. She’s never cut school before, never even _thought_ about it. And yet, here she is, digging her keys out of her bag and hurrying across the parking lot to her car.

Jemma waits for someone to stop her. Waits for the school safety officer to pull her over and throw her in jail. Or to do whatever it is that happens to teenagers who decide to skip school. But nothing happens. No one is outside to even glance in Jemma’s direction as she pulls out of the parking lot and drives away from the school.

She’s relieved, of course, but also mildly disappointed that her escape hasn’t raised more eyebrows.

Jemma points her car in the familiar direction of St. Agnes, where Daisy has been living for the past six years, along with a half dozen other parentless girls. Jemma is certain she could drive the route in her dreams. In the years before she got her own car, her mother used to take her to St. Agnes to visit Daisy or they would drive to winding roads to pick Daisy up for sleepovers that would last all weekend and then some.

St. Agnes always looks imposing, like the key player in a Victorian novel about, well, witches and demons. Only recently has Jemma really realized how true that feeling is. Her second-sight has shown her St. Agnes many times, has shown her the house hundreds of years ago, when it served as a meeting place for a coven of witches. Has shown her that, more than likely, it still does.

But Jemma doesn’t let that deter her. She ignores the cold shiver that passes up her spine, parking the car in the gravel driveway and trying not to feel like there are a dozen eyes on her, watching as she walks toward the wraparound porch.

A black cat is sitting on a porch step and Jemma barks out a laugh, the sound jarring in the quiet of the fall day. “Of course.”

The cat looks at her, completely unimpressed, and then rises, hopping down the stairs and crossing in front of Jemma as it slinks into the woods.

“Am I supposed to have bad luck now?” Jemma isn’t sure if she’s asking the cat or the house of the visions that have been plaguing her mind for weeks but, regardless, there’s no answer.

Jemma sighs, straightening her shoulders and marching up the porch steps. She knows which ones creak, just like she knows the feeling of the old wood against the backs of her thighs or against her palms because of the endless hours she’s spent sitting outside with Daisy, laughing and talking and leaning into one another when they were too breathless and full to support their own weight.

Jemma feels a twinge in her chest, a faint tearing, the same way that she feels whenever she thinks about Daisy now. Daisy, the witch.

Jemma knocks, preparing a story for why she’s not in school when that’s exactly where she’s supposed to be. Or what if Daisy isn’t here? She’ll pretty much be admitting to the sisters that Daisy is skipping if they open the door to find Jemma asking about her.

The door swings open and Lorelei, one of the younger sisters, frowns. “Oh. You.”

It’s not an unusual reaction from Sister Lorelei or any of the other caretakers at St. Agnes, who never seem happy to see Jemma hanging around.

“I’m looking for Daisy.” All the stories and excuses zip out of her mind, reminding Jemma of the only really important thing. The reason that she’s here at all.

Lorelei frowns, tossing her honey hair over her shoulder. “She’s out back.” She says the words like it’s an inconvenience to even be speaking at all. “In the woods.”

Jemma nods, taking a step back, only too eager to get away from Lorelei and the house. “Thank you.”

The woods that ring the property have always been a favorite place of Daisy’s. Honestly, Jemma probably could have just assumed that was where she would find her; she could have just cut to the chance and started down the path that would lead her through the skeletal, grey barked trees. She knows that most of the kids in town are too afraid to venture into the woods, that they dare each other to wander the woods at night but never hold it against the person who can’t manage to stay out among the trees and shadows for more than a few minutes. But Jemma has never found the woods particularly terrifying. Or, at least, she always had Daisy there by her side, which made everything bearable and bright.

Jemma follows the path that she and Daisy have walked dozens of times before, keeping her eyes peeled for a figure among the trees. A real one, not the shadowy form of a long dead resident. She looks for Daisy: the familiar slope of her shoulders, the curve of her jaw, the cascade of her hair, the shining of her dark eyes.

All things that Jemma has noticed, more and more, and for different reasons as they’ve gotten older.

Finally, Jemma spots Daisy in a clearing, leaning against the largest tree in the forest. The place that was always their home-base when they played tag or hide-and-seek, or, just the place they leaned on as they had an afternoon snack and said all the things that they could only say to each other in the privacy of the forest.

Though, Jemma realizes they didn’t say _all_ their secrets.

Daisy never told her the truth.

Just like Jemma never admitted her own, changing truth.

Daisy looks up at the sound of Jemma’s feet crunching on the drying leaves and she tenses, her brief expression of happiness vanishing to one of uncertainty. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you, of course,” Jemma says quietly. “I…can I sit?”

Never have they asked permission for something like that. Never has Jemma been more aware of the space between the two of them and how it seems impossible to cross.

Daisy spends several moments looking anywhere but Jemma, while Jemma tries to wrap her head around the thoughts in her mind and how, exactly, they’re supposed to go forward.

“How did you know?” Daisy has finally forced herself to look at Jemma, letting her eyes rest on Jemma’s face.

The weight of her gaze is familiar, comforting. No one has ever made her feel seen the way that Daisy has.

“It’s…it’s going to sound completely insane.”

Daisy looks surprised. “More insane than the witch thing?”

Jemma’s brow furrows. “So, it’s true? You really are…there are…witches? You’re a witch?”

Daisy swallows. “I didn’t always know…I mean I always _thought_ there was something different about me. And I think that the foster homes I stayed in when I was young…they thought so too. There were things that would happen that we’re my fault but…they were…anyway. And no one wanted to keep me around for too long because…I was just…” Daisy pauses, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “I was strange.”

Jemma shifts without meaning to, letting her knee press to Daisy’s. “You aren’t strange.”

“You still think that?” Daisy searches her eyes.

Jemma doesn’t answer but Daisy doesn’t seem to hold it against her.

Instead, she just continues. “When I was ten, Madame Medusa found me-”

“Madame Medusa?” Jemma repeats, unstable to stop the lifting of her eyebrows or the skepticism in her voice. “Really?”

Daisy smiles, just barely. “Yeah…she…she’s not exactly subtle. But she’s a big deal in the Church of Night…our…you know…coven. So I guess she doesn’t have to be all that subtle. But she found me when I was younger and I told me what I was. _Really_. That my mother…she was a witch too. One of the most powerful witches of all time.”

Jemma leans back against the tree, feeling the bark press into the spot between her shoulders. Earlier this morning, it had seemed like there was only one question that mattered: is Daisy a witch? Now Jemma feels like she has a thousand questions and she isn’t even sure where to start. “But your mother died when you were a baby.” This is something she learned about Daisy when Daisy finally started trusting her with the beginnings of her secrets.

Daisy nods. “Right. So I never knew…I had no idea.”

“Was your father a witch too?” Jemma pauses, tilting her head as she considers. “Or…wizard? Warlock?”

That hint of a smile is back and Jemma much prefers it to the look she saw on Daisy’s face earlier, back in the bathroom at school. “No, he wasn’t. He was a mortal, like you.”

The visions, the second-sight. The dreams. Does she still fit that descriptor, now?

“Anyway, Madame Medusa brought me here. It’s like an orphanage, but just for witches, like me. So that Lorelei and Eva and the others can teach us and get us ready for…” Daisy pauses, her brow furrowing, eyes darkening. “For when we get the rest of our powers.”

A thousand questions. A million. Jemma isn’t sure that she can hold onto all of them, that she can be patient enough for actually wait for the answers before letting another one burst out of her mouth. But one question seems more important the others. “Wait…a home just for witches? So that means Raina-”

“Yeah, _actually_ a witch. Not just an insult.” Daisy studies her, skepticism on her face. “You’re really…chill about this all the sudden.”

Jemma shakes her head. “I never…” She puffs out her cheeks as she exhales. “It’s complicated.”

Daisy scoffs. “Okay, really?”

“I mean…” Jemma lifts her eyes to meet Daisy’s. “I’ve been having these visions lately. Dreams. But they…they’ve been true. Everything I see, it all comes true. And I’ve been seeing,” she rolls her eyes at herself, “ghosts. And in one of my visions…I saw you…”

Daisy tenses slightly, leaning closer to Jemma. “What did you see?”

Jemma looks up at the branches of the massive tree that spread out overhead like reaching fingers. “You were here, at night. The moon was full and you…there were other people here. I couldn’t see all their faces but not everyone even seemed…human. And there was a book in front of you.”

There’s fear in Daisy’s eyes, but admiration too. Jemma swallows, drawing her knees up to her chest. “And in the branches…there were women hanging. They were pointing at you and whispering… _witch_.”

“Not very subtle, I guess,” Daisy says and there’s a forced sort of joviality in her tone.

“No, they usually aren’t.” Jemma wraps her arms around her knees. “I didn’t know what to think. If it was true…if you were…if witches were even real. And some of the figures there in the darkness…they were…” She shudders, even now, at the memory. “I didn’t know if you were-”

“A good witch?” Daisy finishes for her.

Jemma winces, guilt spreading through her chest. “I…yes, at first. But, Daisy, that was stupid. So stupid of me. Because I _know_ , I know who you are. Who you’ve always been.” She reaches out, taking Daisy’s hand. “I should never have doubted, even for a single second, that you weren’t exactly who I know you are.”

Daisy seems to relax, threading her fingers through Jemma’s and squeezing her hand. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you before. I wasn’t…I’m not supposed to tell anyone. I’m not even supposed to hang around with mortals, really.”

“It all makes sense now.” Jemma nods. “No wonder no one likes me. And Raina is such a-”

“Witch?” Daisy smirks. “Except that’s just Raina. She’s like that to everyone. But still…I’m sorry. I should have told you. I don’t like keeping secrets.”

“I understand,” Jemma assures her. “I mean…I didn’t know how to tell you about everything going on with my visions.”

Daisy wears a hesitantly hopeful look on her face. “So, all of this…you’re really okay with all this? The witch stuff?”

Jemma squeezes her hand again. “Daisy, you’re still _you_. You aren’t strange. You aren’t just a witch. You’re…Daisy.”

The darkness of those visions, the feeling of fear she remembers from that dream, the dead women in the trees, the smell of blood in the air…none of that seems to have anything to do with Daisy.

Or, rather, she doesn’t look at Daisy and see those things anymore.

She looks at Daisy and sees Daisy. _Her_ Daisy.

Daisy nods, reluctant but still hopeful. “Okay, then, no more secrets.”

Jemma purses her lips, her eyes falling to her fingers still twined with Daisy’s. _No more secrets_.

“Jemma?”

She makes herself look at Daisy. “I still have a secret.” The words lodge in her throat but somehow, still, she manages to say them.

Even though she’s been praying for the past year that no one, especially Daisy, ever learned what that secret was, Jemma looks at Daisy now and hopes that she can see it in her eyes.

And maybe she does, because when Jemma leans close enough to kiss her, Daisy is there, waiting. And their lips meet and it’s, well, magic.

The pun makes Jemma smile against Daisy’s lips but when Daisy tries to pull away to ask her what’s so amusing, Jemma slips her fingers through Daisy’s hair and pulls her back again.

“I guess we both had that secret, huh?” Daisy says when they finally pull apart, breathless and smiling, cheeks and faces flushed.

Jemma looks at Daisy and sees her friend, and something more. Just like she sees the Daisy from her vision, moving through the darkness to the book on the table. The witch. All of these things, all rolled into one.

“I just have so many questions,” Jemma says, leaning closer.

Daisy smirks. “Yeah, I’m sure you do.”

But she kisses Jemma before the first question can pass her lips. And Jemma really doesn’t mind all that much, because this might just be better than talking. For now, anyway.  

 


End file.
